Touched By Evil
by fanboy-anonymous
Summary: After waking up in the same bed, things are uneasy between the Winchester brothers as they head for Chicago. Things get even worse when, after they destroy a Demon, Dean starts acting very strangely... Contains "Wincest". 5 Chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"**TOUCHED BY EVIL"**

**chapter one**

On the road to Chicago, things were tense. Sam stayed silent in the car, staring out of the window as they passed small town after small town. Dean kept his eyes on the road as he drove, gripping the steering wheel just a little too tight.

They hadn't spoken in almost two hours.

Sam had thought things would be different after last night. But they weren't. Dean had been acting strangely cold and distant all morning, barely looking Sam in the eyes and only talking when absolutely necessary. It was a long way away from when they had woken up that morning - in the same bed, their fingers entwined.

Now Dean had reverted back to his usual state of _deny and avoid_. He had trouble discussing his emotions at the best of times, but when it came to his feelings for Sam, the awkwardness went off the chart.

Sam was pretending not to notice, but he knew Dean was feeling vulnerable and embarrassed. Staring out of the window at blurry, moving landscapes, he wondered if things would ever be the same between them…

As they arrived in Chicago, Dean felt hungry. He parked the Impala outside a diner on the outskirts of the city, and looked over at Sam for the first time in hours. His younger brother was lying back in the passenger seat, his head tilted to the side and his forehead pressed against the window. His dark hair was swept over his eyes.

Dean studied Sam for a few seconds, contemplated waking him, and decided against it. He got out of the car quietly and strode long the sidewalk, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

Sam pretended to be asleep until Dean was inside the diner, and then lifted his head. He watched as Dean ordered and ate alone.

He didn't even flirt with the waitress.

…

The poltergeist case was going to take longer than anticipated. Mainly because it wasn't a poltergeist they were dealing with.

After going back and studying all of the information Bobby had given them, Dean knew something else entirely was going on. There was _something_ haunting the basement of the hospital on the outskirts of the city, but it was definitely more than your average angry ghost.

Sam and Dean knew they couldn't just rush in half-cocked, not knowing for sure what they were up against, and so decided to investigate more.

After scouring the hospital, posing as cops and interrogating witnesses, they discovered that a man had been found in an abandoned part of the basement only two days ago. He had been wandering aimlessly with a vacant look in his eyes, babbling something in an unknown foreign language. They had shipped him to a special psych ward in New York to be studied, but the doctors didn't think they would ever find out what had driven him insane.

With this new information, the Winchester brothers checked into a motel and spent the night studying books and websites for any clues as to what they were up against.

At eleven p.m., Sam's stomach was rumbling. He hadn't eaten anything all day, and was starting to feel faint. At 6 foot 4", he needed a lot of fuel to keep his body going, and this was the longest he'd gone without eating since he could remember. Eventually, the noise of his empty stomach growling in the quiet motel room drove Dean to speak for the first time since the car journey on the way back from the hospital.

"Jesus, Sammy," he said, looking up from his book. "Would you shut that thing up?" He picked up the TV remote and pointed it at Sam, exaggeratedly hitting the _mute_ button again and again.

Sam couldn't help but smile. "I'm hungry," he sniggered.

"Well then, eat!" Dean replied. "There's a sandwich in my duffel. I picked it up at the diner."

Sam looked up from his laptop.

Dean shrugged. "I figured you might get hungry later, so…"

Sam nodded slowly. "Thanks," he smiled. He got up and went into Dean's duffel bag, grabbing the sandwich and devouring it within seconds.

…

"Pishacha," said Dean, almost twenty minutes later. He slammed his father's journal shut and threw it behind him on the bed, running his fingers through his messy brown hair.

"What?" Sam asked, looking up from his laptop with a confused look on his face.

"The demon," replied Dean. He looked over at his brother, who was still staring, open mouthed and narrow eyed. "It's a Pishacha. In Hindu mythology, they haunt cremation grounds and can assume the form of the dead. Sometimes they possess humans to make them insane."

Sam nodded, finally piecing things together. He sat up on the bed. "Which would explain why the crazy guy was found in the basement of the hospital," he said. "That's where they used to cremate the bodies."

"Bingo," said Dean, getting up and grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair.

…

An hour later, Dean was lying unconscious on the cold floor of the hospital basement. A thin trickle of blood was slowly making its way down his forehead.

The demon - or rather the hospital orderly who was possessed by the demon - had Sam pinned up against the wall, choking the life out of him. He managed to bring his arm up and crack the guy in the head with his elbow, sending the demon stumbling backwards. Sam slid down the wall, gasping for breath, and fell to the ground.

Before the demon could pounce on him again, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the colt. One shot later, the demon was dead. The possessed man's body convulsed on the floor, the life flickering out of his eyes, and a wisp of dark smoke escaped his lips.

The corpse lay motionless, a few feet away from Dean.

Sam was still slumped against the wall, gasping for air. He had hoped to destroy the demon without killing the guy, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Now an innocent man had a bullet hole in his forehead, all for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was something Sam struggled with every time someone got hurt during a case. But he knew he couldn't save everyone.

After all, he was only human… or so he hoped.

…

It was 3 a.m., and Dean had been drifting in and out of consciousness since they'd returned to the motel. Sam was exhausted, but he was afraid to go to sleep incase Dean woke up and needed him.

As Sam wiped the blood from Dean's forehead with a damp cloth, his brother responded with a light moan, and his head twitched to the side. Sam sighed in relief. "You're okay, Dean," he whispered. "I'm here."

Dean moaned again, his hand coming up and taking Sam's wrist. "Sam," he said, softly.

"I'm here."

"What happened?" Dean asked, trying to sit up. Sam slid his arm around Dean's waist and helped him up.

"The demon," Sam said. "He hit you pretty bad. But he's dead."

Dean's eyes flickered open and he turned to face Sam, who sat beside him on the bed. "Are you sure?" He asked, squinting up at his younger brother.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

The corners of Dean's mouth curled up into a weak smile. "Good," he said quietly. He let go of Sam's wrist and forced himself up onto his feet. Sam nervously rose to his feet, his arms out, ready to catch Dean if he collapsed again.

Predictably, Dean's knees buckled underneath him after only a few steps. Before he could hit the floor, Sam had caught him and stood him upright again, holding him in close.

Dean's head rested on Sam's shoulder as he sighed, exhaling.

Feeling Dean's warm breath against his neck, Sam felt a tingle of pleasure creeping up his spine and swallowed hard, licking his lips.

As he inhaled, Dean took in the fresh, clean fragrance of Sam's shirt; the hot, slightly salty scent of flesh; the very faint whiff of a sweet-smelling cologne.

"I'm okay," he said, pulling away from Sam, slowly. "I just need to go to the bathroom and splash myself with cold water. Can you get me a beer?"

Sam chuckled. "I think maybe you'd better lay off the alcohol, Dean. You need to get some rest."

"No rest for the wicked, Sammy," Dean growled, heading into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, and Sam heard the cold water start filling the sink. He took two bottles of beer from the crate on the table and twisted off the tops, laying them down beside Dean's bed.

Lying back on the springy, soft mattress, Sam stared up at the ceiling and ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair, his other hand resting on his stomach.

In the bathroom, Dean washed his face with the icy cold water in the sink and patted his face dry with a towel. Blinking, he looked up into the mirror as his eyes turned black as night.

The demon gazed at his new reflection and smiled.

"No rest for the wicked," he whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

"**TOUCHED BY EVIL"**

**chapter two**

The following night, the Pishacha demon was busy experiencing the pleasures of the world from inside Dean Winchester's body.

"Dean, I think you'd better slow down on the shots," said Sam. He looked on incredulously as his brother slugged back his fifth shot of tequila in less than a minute.

Dean belched loudly and turned around to look at Sam, with a playful smile on his face. He leaned back against the bar, eyeing up the girl standing behind Sam.

Sam's eyes widened. "Dean… Dean, are you even listening to me right now?"

"Not really," sighed Dean, shrugging. "You're kinda boring me, Sammy."

Sam sniggered. "Oh, well, I apologize. Excuse me for giving a rat's ass. I'm just a little concerned about the fact that twenty-four hours ago, you were out stone cold after a demon beat the hell out of you, and now you're knockin' back tequila like it's your birthday."

Dean winked at the girl behind Sam. "Well, maybe it is," he smirked.

Sam glanced behind him, and shook his head. "Okay, now I get it. So I guess it's gonna be another classic Dean Winchester seduction - lie to her, get her drunk, take her back to the room and screw her, and then hit the road in the morning?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, and leaned in against Sam's face as he moved past him.

"Jealous?" he whispered.

…

It didn't take long for Dean to disappear with the girl, leaving Sam alone in the bar.

He half-heartedly sipped at a bottle of beer for a while, before paying the tab and leaving. Stepping out of the warmth of the bar and into the cool, dark night, Sam felt a rush of wind blow through his hair as he slid his hands into his jacket pockets.

He scanned the street, but saw no trace of Dean; he checked the parking lot behind the bar, but the Impala was gone. He took his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open, speed-dialing Dean's number. It rang for a while, before going to voicemail. Sam clamped the phone shut, sighing.

"Unbelievable," he mumbled, and strode off in the direction of the motel.

…

Dean's car was parked outside the motel room. There was no light on, but as Sam approached the door, he could hear muffled noises on the other side.

He stood in silence, listening for a few moments, before curiosity - and the Dutch courage he'd gotten from the beer - forced him to turn the doorknob. He twisted it slowly and silently as possible, opening the door an inch, then another, and another, until there was a space wide enough for him to peer through.

The room was in almost complete darkness, except for the silvery-blue moonlight pouring in through the window.

The girl sat on the small table in the corner, her top pulled down to expose her breasts, her legs spread wide open. Dean stood naked in-between them, his back to Sam; his jeans around his ankles and his underwear pulled down to his knees.

Sam's mouth went dry as he watched through the crack in the door. His stomach felt like it was tied in knots, but he couldn't figure out why. Was it jealousy he was feeling, or lust? Or both…?

He watched Dean thrust into the girl, slow and deep, breathing hard. His eyes drifted down the contours of Dean's muscular back and shoulders, rippling in the moonlight; the little dimples at the base of Dean's back; his buttocks clenching gently as he thrust forward.

Sam licked his dry lips and tried to swallow. His hand slid from his fast-beating heart, down his stomach, and grabbed the growing bulge in his jeans.

Dean moaned quietly, his head leaning in to kiss the girl's neck as he quickened the pace, thrusting faster. The girl gasped breathlessly, tilting her body back and lying down. Dean gripped onto the edge of the table as he fucked her harder, his breathing becoming frenzied, and moments later he grunted noisily as he climaxed.

The demon savored the rapturous sensation of orgasm as he ejaculated - the warm, sticky fluid erupting from Dean's body in three short, sharp blasts - inside the girl. He felt Dean's skin tingle with pleasure, and he thrust one last time as the sweet feeling subsided and then finally, was gone.

He pulled away from the girl and immediately yanked up his underwear and jeans, all in one smooth, fluid motion. "You can go now," he said, staring down at the girl with a cold look in his eyes. It was impossible to tell in the darkness of the room that they had turned black.

"Give me my money first," she said, pulling up her panties and standing up.

Dean sighed and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He handed over a bundle of $20 notes, and the girl grabbed it, picked up her purse and headed for the door without looking back.

**...**

Sam quickly dodged out of the way before the door swung open and the girl trudged out across the parking lot and into the night.

Standing with his back pressed against the cold stone wall, Sam's heart continued to pound in his chest. He was still trying to process what he had just seen; his stomach still trying to unravel from its knot; his penis still semi-erect and pressed against his thigh.

After getting a coffee from a vending machine and wandering around the motel for a while, Sam eventually plucked up the courage to face Dean again.

Throwing the empty coffee cup into a trash can, he headed back to the room.


	3. Chapter 3

"**TOUCHED BY EVIL"**

**chapter three**

Dean was stretched out on his bed in the half light of the room, the moon casting its silvery glow over his lean, muscular torso. The button and zipper of his jeans were undone. His arm was resting over his eyes.

Sam stood in the doorway, watching his brother's stomach rise and fall gently as he breathed. He didn't know if Dean was asleep or not.

He hesitantly closed the door behind him and turned on the light. Dean didn't move.

Sam kicked off his shoes and threw his jacket onto his bed. He unbuckled his belt, started unbuttoning his shirt and, when he turned around, found himself eye-to-eye with Dean. His breath caught in his throat.

"What you doing?" asked Dean. His was face expressionless, his voice flat.

Stepping backwards, Sam continued to unbutton his shirt. "Taking a shower," he replied impatiently. He was in no mood for chit-chat after being stranded downtown in a bar while Dean had sex with a girl in their room.

He side-stepped his brother and moved past him, towards the bathroom. Dean caught him by the hand.

"Want some company?" he smirked.

Sam stared at his brother for a long moment. There was something strange about Dean's expression - his vacant tone of voice, the peculiar look in his eyes. It was making the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand on end, and not in a good way.

"No," he said, pulling away from Dean's grasp and retreating into the bathroom, closing the door. He listened as Dean crossed the room and lay back down on the bed.

Turning on the shower, Sam continued undressing. He pulled off his shirt and threw it over the sink, then unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down over his hips, taking his black jockey shorts with them. The room began to fill with steam as the water heated.

Sam climbed into the tub and pulled across the white plastic shower curtain, placing his head under the water, letting it pour over his hair and face and stream down the contours of his tall body. He grabbed the bar of soap from the rack on the wall and started scrubbing his body vigorously, creating a thick foamy lather on his skin.

He didn't hear the bathroom door click and swing open, then close again.

After rinsing himself off, Sam turned off the water and the bathroom fell silent. Pulling back the curtain, he stepped out onto the cold tiles and reached for a towel, patting his face with it then wrapping it around his waist.

When he wiped away the condensation from the mirror, Dean's eyes stared back at him. Sam spun around, his heart pounding, to see Dean standing there in his underwear.

"Dean," gasped Sam, breathlessly.

Dean gave a crooked half-smile, and reached past Sam. He picked up his toothbrush from the sink and ran it under the cold water. "Just brushing my teeth, Sammy," he sneered.

"Sure," Sam breathed, smiling weakly. He opened the door and pointed towards the bedroom. "I'm just gonna… dry myself off."

Dean raised an eyebrow as he lifted the toothbrush to his mouth. "Don't mind me," he leered.

Sam nodded slowly, backing out of the bathroom and closing the door.

…

As the sun rose the next morning, Sam stood by the Impala waiting for Dean, who was returning the room key to the front desk.

The bell on the reception door rang, and Dean came sauntering across the parking lot, carrying his duffel bag.

"Hey!" he called out. Sam looked up to see the car keys hurtling through the air towards him. Catching them, he stared at Dean with a bemused look on his face.

"Uh, you want me to open the car for you?" he asked, mystified.

Dean snickered. "No, brainiac, I want you to drive it."

"What?" Sam coughed. "Since when do you want me to drive your car?"

Dean shrugged. "Since now. I'm exhausted."

Sam opened the trunk and Dean threw in his duffel. He slammed it shut again and went to the passenger door, waiting for Sam to unlock the doors, but Sam was still standing at the trunk.

"Hey, Dean," he said, softly. "What the hell's going on with you right now? Is this because of what happened in Minnesota? You've been acting weird for days."

"Sam," Dean sighed, resting his arms on the car roof; his eyes flashed with anger. "Open the car, get in, and get us the fuck out of here."

…

In downtown Boston, Sam raced through a darkened alley.

His breath flew out in sharp blasts; his heart hammered in his chest; his pulse thundered in his ears.

"Dean!" he yelled. When a metallic clang rang out behind him, he stopped abruptly and almost tripped over. He spun around and drew his knife out its sheath.

He stepped towards the row of dumpsters and trashcans where the noise had come from. He brought his knife up, ready to attack, and lunged into the darkness. When he kicked aside a trashcan, he found an old homeless man cowering in the corner, gawking up at him in terror.

Sam hid the knife behind his back. "Sorry," he said, backing away quickly and starting to run again. Where the hell was Dean? He'd been behind Sam only a few minutes ago, when they'd set off in pursuit of the vampire, and now he was gone - along with the vampire.

Reaching the end of the alleyway, Sam found himself on the street outside a café. "Damn," he muttered to himself. He pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed Dean's number.

There was no answer. Sam slammed the phone shut and kept running.

…

Meanwhile, in an abandoned warehouse two streets away, the Pishacha demon crept along a darkened corridor. He had used all of his extrasensory abilities to track down the vampire and his hostage, and was looking forward to a little bloodshed. It was one of his greatest pleasures in life.

And to be experiencing it from inside Dean Winchester's powerful, exquisitely formed body made it all the more enjoyable. Not least because Dean's spirit was still trapped inside - watching helplessly, slipping farther into madness with every passing minute.

It was just too delicious to think about.

When he flung open the door at the end of the corridor, the demon was confronted with the sight of the vampire, standing in the middle of the darkened room. He had his long, pale fingers wrapped around the neck of his female prey. She was around eighteen-years-old, pale-skinned and dark-haired, and was trembling with fear.

"Don't come any closer," the vampire snarled.

Dean kept walking.

"I mean it! I'll fucking kill her!" shrieked the vampire.

Dean smirked, walking into the silvery light that was coming in through the gaps in the badly boarded-up window. His eyes were black.

The vampire's mouth dropped open in astonishment as Dean yanked the girl from his grasp and snapped her neck in one lightning quick motion. Her limp body fell to the floor with a sickening thud.

The vampire began to back away, shaking his head in disbelief. "Y…You… you're not human," he stuttered.

Dean smiled. "Neither are you."

He drew his knife out of the sheath and lunged forward.

…

Sam found Dean strolling out of the warehouse almost ten minutes later. His clothes and face were splattered with blood.

"That was fun," he said, wiping the bloody knife across his jacket sleeve and slipping it back into the sheath.

"Dean," said Sam, looking worried. "We're supposed to stick together. You shouldn't have gone after that thing alone."

"What are you bitching about, Sammy? The bastard is dead. What more do you want?"

He pushed past Sam and headed down the street, making his was back to the Impala. Sam rushed after him.

"What happened to the girl, Dean?" he asked.

"She's dead," he replied, without stopping.

"Before you got there?" Sam inquired.

"Guess so," said Dean, quietly. He didn't even look back.

Sam stopped in his tracks and watched his brother march on, seemingly untroubled. He was being way too evasive, even for Dean. Something weird was going on with his brother, and he had to find out what.

…

Dean checked them into a motel, where Sam suspected married doctors and lawyers brought mistresses and hookers. The rooms were nice enough, but there was that indescribable air of seediness.

Sam came back from the vending machine with coffee, chips and candy bars, to find Dean lounging on the couch in his boxer shorts. He was holding out the TV remote, flicking from channel to channel. His other hand was stuffed down the front of his shorts.

"Why is there never anything good on before eleven?" He asked, without looking up at Sam.

"Like what?" Sam asked, setting down the food and coffee on the table.

"Like porn," Dean grinned. He turned his head towards Sam to study his reaction.

Sam shook his head. "Dean…" he snorted, handing over a hot cup of coffee. Dean looked down at his occupied hands and shrugged, smirking.

Sam stepped forward and placed the hot cup in the between Dean's thighs. "Whoa!" Dean yelled, pulling his hand out of his shorts and grabbing the cup and lifting it away from his crotch. "Are you trying to roast my balls?"

Sam smiled sarcastically. "Oh, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Dean stared hard at Sam, setting the coffee down on the table and sitting back in the couch, spreading his legs open. "We both know you wouldn't want that, Sammy…"

He slid his hand down his stomach and back into his shorts, grabbing his groin and massaging it. He gave a wicked smile, peering up at Sam from under his eyebrows.

"Dean, what… what are you doing?" Sam stood up, looking away nervously.

Dean laughed, getting up and moving towards Sam with a quick, reptilian slither. He put his hands on Sam's hips and looked up into his eyes, saying nothing. Sam was frozen to the spot, his heartbeat starting to quicken, and he could scarcely breathe. Dean inched closer, gently pressing his soft, full lips against Sam's.

Sam seemed to respond for a second, leaning into the kiss, before pulling his head back and stepping away from Dean's embrace.

"What the hell is going on with you?" he spat, tears forming in his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking away from Dean. "You can't keep doing this to me, Dean. You're screwing with my head. One minute you want me, the next you can't even look at me. I just don't get it."

He looked up at Dean, who was staring back at him with no expression of emotion whatsoever. "What is it you want?" Sam hissed. His face was twisted in frustration, a single tear sliding its way down his cheek.

Dean stepped towards him again. He placed his hand on Sam's back, pulling him in closer. "Make love to me, Sam," he whispered.

"I can't," Sam wept, the hot tears streaming down his face.

"You can," said Dean. He kissed Sam's neck, sucking at the warm flesh.

"I don't want to," Sam said forcefully, pulling away. "I can't allow myself to keep playing your sick mind games, Dean."

When Dean laughed, anger welled up in the pit of Sam's stomach and he swung his fist at Dean's face. His brother fell backwards, stumbled and landed on the floor with his legs spread. His head cracked off the floor.

Sam's breath caught in his throat and he shot forward. "Dean…" he said, kneeling down and hauling Dean by the arm until he was sitting up. "I didn't mean to-" He was cut short when Dean's mouth collided against his.

He breathed hard through his nose as Dean kissed him with such force that he felt like he might suck the life out of him. When Dean's tongue came into his mouth, Sam gave over to his desire and kissed back, wrapping his arm around his brother's neck and straddling his legs.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm and pushed him to the floor, rolling on top of Sam and wrapping his thighs around Sam's waist.

Sam sat up, Dean rocking back in his lap, and kissed Dean's chest, licking around his nipples.

The demon pressed his face into Sam's hair, smiling, his eyes flickering black. _I hope you're watching, Dean… _he thought. _He's mine now…_

Sam's fingers gently traced a line down Dean's back, his hand sliding into the rear of Dean's shorts and over the taut, firm curve of his ass, before grabbing it hard.

Dean's body shuddered as he laughed - first silently, and then building in volume until it was almost maniacal. Sam drew his lips away from Dean's chest and looked up at his brother.

"What?" Sam laughed.

When Dean wouldn't stop, the smile fell from Sam's face. "What?" he asked again.

The laughter trailed off, and Dean stared down at Sam with his lips curled up into a cruel smile. He bent down and leaned in, pressing his lips against Sam's. Sam held the back of Dean's head to keep their mouths together as they kissed.

Dean pulled away abruptly and smiled again. "Now tell me you don't want me, Sam," he sneered.

Sam's stomach lurched. He pushed Dean away and jumped to his feet, flying out of the door and slamming it closed behind him.

Dean got up and went to the window. He watched, still smiling, as Sam's tall figure disappeared across the parking lot and into the darkness…


	4. Chapter 4

"**TOUCHED BY EVIL"**

**chapter four**

Sam Winchester walked the streets of Boston, alone, his hair and clothes soaked from the rain. His head swam with confused thoughts.

How could Dean be so cruel…? Why was he tormenting him like this…? How was Sam going to face his brother again after what had just happened…?

Sam felt humiliated, and hurt, and confused. He felt sick as he aimlessly wandered up and down street after street, block after block. His heart physically ached, and he struggled to stay on his feet.

Eventually, he sought refuge in an all-night café and ordered a coffee, though he didn't touch it. He laid his head down on the table and after only a few minutes, and drifted off. He slept for hours as customers came and went, waitresses changed shifts, bells rang and people talked over breakfast.

It was six a.m. before his eyes opened again. He paid his bill, leaving the cold, untouched coffee on the table, and left.

…

When Dean woke, he was lying naked on his stomach; his limbs sprawled out on top of the sheets; his face pressed into the pillow.

Rolling onto his back, he stretched out and yawned, then jumped up and strode towards the bathroom, his morning erection bobbing out in front of him.

After showering and dressing, he ate a handful of chips and a candy bar that Sam had bought from the vending machine last night, washing it down with cold, stale coffee.

Outside, Sam had been carefully watching his brother through the gap in the drapes. He hadn't noticed it before now, but even the way Dean was _moving_ was wrong. The way he ate, drank, put on his clothes, looked at himself in the mirror… it was all wrong.

Watching now from a safe distance, he began to realize that something had happened to his brother. In fact, he wasn't so sure that he was looking at his brother at all…

…

That night, in the corner booth of a bar, Sam slugged back the last gulp of beer from his bottle. When he brought the bottle back down and slammed it onto the tabletop, Dean was sitting across from him.

"I got your text," he smiled, holding up his phone.

Sam nodded. "Good, we need to talk."

Dean looked around. "Here?" he asked.

"No," Sam said. He gestured for Dean to follow him, got up and headed for the door, pushing through the crowd.

Outside, Dean trailed behind cautiously as Sam lead them down an alleyway beside the bar, which led to the back parking lot. Every now and then he would glance behind him to make sure Dean was following.

When they came to the darkest, most shadowed section of the narrow alleyway, Sam stopped and turned around. Dean was still a few yards behind, but came to a halt, too, looking around him warily.

"Come on," Sam said, his voice breaking slightly. He motioned for Dean to come closer.

Dean stepped forward, walking a few short paces until he came to a patch of newspaper pages scattered across the ground in front of him. He stopped again.

Sam held his breath.

The demon could smell the tension in the air; hear the rapid beat of Sam's heart; feel the anticipation inside him building.

Looking down, the demon kicked a sheet of newspaper away and uncovered part of a large, circular symbol drawn in red paint: A Devil's Trap.

Sam gulped hard.

When he brought his head back up, Dean's eyes were pitch black.

"That was close," he hissed.

Sam whipped the colt out of his waistband and pointed it at the demon, but it wasn't quick enough. With one flick of Dean's fingers, Sam went hurtling through the air until he crashed against the side of the building, his head smacking off the wall. He fell back, unconscious, and landed in a lifeless heap on the ground, his limbs splayed out on the concrete.

Dean sauntered towards him, kneeling down at his side. Staring down at Sam with dark eyes and a sinister smile, he brushed a wisp of hair away from Sam's eyes.

"Oh, Sammy," he sighed, brushing his fingers across Sam's cold cheek. "Why did you have to go and ruin everything? We could have had so much fun…"

…

Before Sam could even open his eyes, he was hit by the throbbing pain at the side of his head. He tried to move his hands, but they were tied behind him with jagged, frayed rope.

He tried to speak, but what came out instead was a weak, gargled moan.

"Oh, you're up," said a voice somewhere nearby.

Sam's eyes shot open. It took a few seconds for them to adjust to the light, but when they had, the motel room began to materialize around him. Dean was sitting in the chair opposite him, playing with the colt.

Sam was tied to a wooden chair. His hands were fastened behind his back, but he noted that his feet were free.

"So," Dean sighed, getting up from the chair. "You figured me out, huh?" He moved towards Sam slowly, twirling the colt around in his fingers.

"Yeah," Sam said through gritted teeth. "I know what you are."

Dean smiled. "Mmm. Too bad your little Devil's Trap didn't work out, huh? Very clever though, Sammy."

"Don't call me that," Sam snapped. He squirmed in the chair. "Where's Dean?"

"Around," the demon smirked. He kneeled down and took Sam's chin in his hand, staring deep into his eyes. "Oh, don't worry, Sammy. He's alive, and he'll even get his body back... when I'm done with it."

"When you're done with it?" Sam spat.

"Yeah," the demon chuckled, letting go if Sam's face and standing up. He started circling the chair. "You see, Sam, I'm having so much fun in your brother's meat suit, I'm not quite ready to leave it yet. I mean, I never knew how great life could be until I decided to finally ditch that hospital basement and see what was on the outside. Food, alcohol, sex, murder..."

He laughed again. "I never knew what I was missing all these years."

Sam frowned. "But how...?" he whispered. "I shot you in that basement, with the colt... I saw you die."

The demon stood behind Sam and leaned in, speaking softly in his ear. "No, you saw that hospital orderly die," he said, insidiously. "I was out of that body before you'd even pulled the trigger."

Sam's worst fear was confirmed; he'd shot and killed an innocent human being.

"No," he choked.

"Yes!" the demon boomed, his voice filling the small room. "And when I saw your precious brother lying just a few feet away, I saw the perfect opportunity. I just couldn't resist possessing one of the infamous Winchester brothers."

He walked back around the chair to look at the devastation in Sam's face. It was simply delicious. He put his arms around Sam's neck and straddled his legs, until he was sitting in Sam's lap. His black eyes fixed on Sam's and the smirk faded from his face.

"I gotta say, Sam," he said. "I can see why Dean turns you on so much. This body really is… beautiful."

"It's not like that," Sam said flatly.

"Yes it is. You don't have to deny it, Sam. You know I'm the last person who's going to judge you. In fact, I kinda like it. It's… naughty."

Sam shook his head, forcing himself to look away from the hideous expression on his brother's face. "Where's Dean?" he asked, quietly.

"Don't worry, Sam," the demon pleaded. "I told you, he'll be back. He's still in here, watching everything I'm doing, completely helpless and going slowly insane."

Sam struggled in the chair, pulling against his restraints, gritting his teeth. The demon laughed hysterically, getting up off Sam's lap and crossing the room. He stood at the window, leaning casually against the wall, peering nonchalantly out of the drapes at the darkened parking lot.

"I'm not going to kill you, Sam," he said softly. "And I'm not going to kill your brother. I'm just going to let his soul drift around for a while, his mind rotting away slowly but surely, until there's almost _nothing_ left."

The demon turned to look at Sam's stunned, horrified expression. "And eventually," he hissed, "I'm going to let your brother come back to this... magnificent body, and live the rest of his long life - completely...and utterly... _ruined_."

Sam's eyes stung as they welled with hot, salty tears.

"And the best part is," continued the demon, his eyes wide and glazed over. "You're going to be there to _watch_..."


	5. Chapter 5

"**TOUCHED BY EVIL"**

**chapter five**

"Sam," said the demon. It was the first time he'd spoken in almost an hour. He was still looking out of the window with a far-off look in his eyes. "Do you have any idea how much power you have locked away inside you?"

"Yeah?" Sam scoffed. "So how come I'm tied to a chair?"

The demon laughed. "Well, you just haven't learned to how to harness it yet," he said, turning to look at Sam. "There's a reason old Yellow Eyes chose you to be his golden boy. You have the ability to take anything you could ever want, and instead you spend your time following Dean around like a lovesick puppy. You're pathetic."

"Fuck you," Sam retorted.

"Ooh. You kiss your mother with that mouth…?" the demon asked overdramatically. "Oh wait…"

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Sam roared, writhing against his restraints.

The demon laughed uncontrollably, and then suddenly his face turned serious. He grabbed Sam by the chin and violently jerked his head up until they were eye-to-eye. "Don't forget… kill me, kill your brother."

He tossed Sam's head aside, grabbed Dean's jacket and turned off the light. He marched out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

Sam was left alone in the darkness, struggling against the rope until his wrists began to bleed.

…

In the early hours of the morning, the demon strolled across the motel parking lot, twirling the room key around his finger, smiling to himself. He had spent the night in a bar, getting drunk, then had taken a beautiful young woman outside and had sex with her on the hood of a car.

Afterwards, he had slit her throat and left her body twitching on the ground as she slowly bled to death.

He turned the key in the lock and opened the door, the smile immediately vanishing from his face.

Sam was gone.

The wooden chair lay, broken into pieces, in the middle of the darkened room, the frayed ropes scattered around it. The demon rushed forward, dropping the keys, looking around the room frantically.

Behind him, the door slammed shut, and the lights flicked on. He spun around to find Sam leaning against the door, his finger on the light switch. He had a playful smirk on his face.

When the demon stepped towards him, he found himself trapped by an invisible force. Sam pointed towards the ceiling, and the demon peered up, knowing what he would see before he even saw it: a Devil's Trap.

"No, Sam… please," he pleaded. "It's me. It's Dean."

Sam held up his hand, shaking his head. "Don't waste your breath," he said. "You're not him."

"Sam, please. It's me."

Sam picked up his father's journal and flicked to the pages containing exorcisms. He started the Latin incantation.

The demon's body started trembling, his breath quickening, and his eyes rolling in his head. "No!" he screamed.

Sam continued chanting.

"Sam," the demon gasped. "I love you…"

Sam broke the incantation for a second, glancing up at his brother's face. But he knew it wasn't him. He continued the exorcism.

The demon screamed in pain before turning his face to the ceiling. A thick stream of black smoke came pouring out of his mouth, swirling above his head before disappearing completely.

Dean's body slumped to the floor, crashing into the wreckage of the chair.

…

"I was awake for most it… watching," whispered Dean. His eyes were glazed with tears. He sat huddled beside Sam at the foot of the bed, his knees brought up to his chest. "I was trapped, helpless. And there were voices, screaming in my head, all the time. It wouldn't stop."

Sam grabbed Dean and pulled him in close. "I know," he said. "It's okay. You're here now." He pressed his face into Dean' hair, and listened as his brother wept.

It was the first time he'd heard Dean cry in years…

…

Dean didn't speak again for almost three days. They stayed in the room, Sam only occasionally venturing out for food and coffee.

He would come back to find Dean asleep - his face peaceful, his breathing shallow and quiet - and would undress, crawl into bed and lie beside him, feeling the warmth radiate from his brother's skin.

Occasionally, Dean would wake from a nightmare, struggling for breath and would reach out, grabbing Sam by the hand to make sure he was there. Sam would pull his brother in close against his chest, until he drifted off again…

…

On the fourth day, the traumatic after-effects of the possession began to dissipate. Dean seemed to come out of shock and started talking again, though Sam knew the mental scars would never completely go away.

Not knowing where their next hunt was, they packed up their belongings and hit the road, leaving Boston behind.

Sam drove while Dean watched the lights of the city disappear in the rear-view mirror.

"Hey," Sam said, breaking the silence in the car. "I got a text from Bobby."

"Yeah?" Dean said softly, still gazing out of the window.

"There's a job in Ohio - a haunted building," Sam said. "He's going to meet us there."

"Good," said Dean, unconvincingly. "Ohio it is." He continued to stare out of the window.

He would never tell his brother the true extent of the horror he had been subjected to while possessed. Sam had been hurt enough by the demon, and it had almost killed Dean to watch, unable to do anything.

His love for Sam had been the only thing that had kept him from slipping into oblivion; the hope of being able to hold Sam close, to touch him, feel the warmth of skin on skin, to kiss him one more time. That same hope was all he clung to now.

So, Dean Winchester did what he did best - he locked away emotions, his pain and despair, and kept it to himself, never speaking of it again. He only hoped that as the days, weeks and months went by, he might begin to forget…


End file.
